watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

She laughs.

"I like to think my skin's too nice to be a lake monster."

With some reluctance, she lets his hand go.

"So. Um."

He catches her hand again, gently pulling her back. "You keep doing that, you're gonna give me a complex."

His thumb hooks around hers and he bends her wrist just so. And then he's the one pulling her hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the back of her hand.

She shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.

"I don't -- I don't mean to."

"I know," he answers simply.

And then he's the one letting her hand go, reluctantly.

"I suppose you need to be getting back."

"I suppose," she says faintly.

But she makes no move to leave. Instead she takes her now-free hand and touches his cheek, feeling his warmth through her fingertips.

Again his eyes close and she feels him lean into that touch. His hand comes up to capture her wrist as he turns to kiss her palm. A series of gentle, languid kisses, trailing over the mound of her thumb, down to the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.

Options, options. She could get up, walk away. Leave. Most likely that would be the end of it.

Or she could turn her hand and catch her fingers in his hair and grab him and --

She squeezes her eyes shut, postponing the decision.

Bryan is waiting for her to pull away. Any moment now, she's going to take her hand away, and they'll go back to pretending they both don't feel this sweet pull.

Until the very moment she does, he decides he's going to keep kissing her palm, nuzzling gently, exploring the soft curves with his lips, savoring her for as long as she'll let him.

Veronica thoughts can be best summed up as a very frustrated 'arg'. She attempts to say his name but makes no sound; all she can hear is her heartbeat in her ears.

Funny how she feels no less dizzy than when she'd been so influenced by the tequila, earlier.

Without consciously thinking about it, she curls her fingers, tracing his jawline.

Her touch elicits a rumbling purr. Instinct makes him shift towards her, but he doesn't want to overwhelm her. What he wants, more than anything at this moment, is to make her feel safe with him.

He opens his eyes and looks up at her, pressing his jaw into her hand while his own reaches up to stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

He's closer. Too close; not close enough.

She catches his hand in her own again, holds it close to her face. As a sudden thought she finds his thumb and bites the tip of it, playfully: revenge for earlier.

There's a nervous chuff from his lips and then he's the one pulling back, swallowing hard.

He doesn't let go of her hand though, pushing his chair back a bit from the table and tugging her, bidding her come closer.

She's never seen him look so intent.

She's out of her chair and standing in one quick movement. But she doesn't move to him, instead interlacing her fingers with his, pulling him, urging him to his feet.

There's very little hesitation to her movements, now.

Turns out, he takes direction very well, especially when she's the one directing.

He stands, his hands moving to cup her face, smoothing her hair back from her eyes, his expression open and vulnerable.

She steps in close, aligning her torso with his, arms reaching up to drape around his neck. He's much taller, and it takes a good deal of effort to not just drag him down, as much as part of her would like to.

She's breathing rather hard.

He's stroking her cheek, bending his head until the world closes down to just the two of them, and a shared breath.

She's so close, she can feel his voice resonating in his chest.

"The question is still yours to ask."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment something that is near a wince flickers across her face. Then she looks up into his eyes again.

"Just --"

She falters, takes a breath. When she speaks again it's barely audible.

"Just one kiss."

"Just one kiss," he echoes, his hands caressing down her shoulders to pull her close. There's a soft smile on his lips as he bends to close the gap.

He follows her lead, letting her show him exactly what she wants.

She's not sure whether she said the words more for his benefit or for her own, but hearing him agree to them is all she needs. Her hands move with purpose, one to the back of his neck, one to his collar.

And then she's pressing in, going up on her toes. Firm and insistent, her lips catch his.

His embrace enfolds her, almost lifting her off her feet, pulling her tight against his chest. He meets her, matches her, presses just a little to let her feel the hunger that's lurking just beneath the surface.

Her hand is tightening into a fist in his shirt.

She kisses him heavily, desperately, like she's drowning and he's her one shot at air; like he's water in the desert. She kisses him like she will never let go.

But, eventually, she does, and she's pushing away, stumbling back until she's up against the counter, eyes wide and stunned. She lifts a hand to her mouth.

"Wow."

Of course, he lets her go, giving the briefest thought to the possibility that he did something wrong.

No. No he thinks this is something entirely different.

Without looking away, he shifts the chair and sits, his hands resting on his knees, elbows turned out, his entire awareness focused on her. It's an almost predatory look, but there is a softness around his eyes.

"That bad?" He teases, gently.

Her breaths come as though she's just run a sprint. She moves her hand to rub at the back of her neck to hide the fact that her fingers are shaking.

The solidity of the counter is welcome support.

"Funny." The tone she was aiming for was 'joking', but her voice is thick enough that it doesn't quite come across. "You're funny."

This reads as trauma to him and his concern is rising.

He holds out a hand to her, beckoning gently. "Come here." His voice is quiet.

For a moment she hesitates, unsure of his intentions. But she does step forward in the end, approaching close enough to slip her hand into his.

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